


Mediator

by planetpeaches



Category: Casper (1995)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Femdom, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, well a little bit of plot maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 08:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29996841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetpeaches/pseuds/planetpeaches
Summary: She shushes him quickly, fingers coming up to wrap around his chin, squeezing it tightly.“You’re starting to develop a really annoying habit of thinking you can tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, Dibs.”
Relationships: Carrigan Crittenden/Paul "Dibs" Plutzker
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Mediator

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Here I am again offering up more of this trash!ship because I just can't get enough of them, and let's face it- the writers of Casper wrote this pair with some seriously strange sort of relationship going on the background and I am here to exploit it :D I'm all for Carrigan having some serious daddy issues and Dibs is just as fucked up as she is. They're perfect for each other amirite?

He finds her hiding in the small study that sits at the back of the East Wing of the house. The Crittenden residence is more a maze of rooms than it is a home. Carrigan had never been happy here, and he knows that, probably more than she knows it herself. 

Dibs had been sent off to seek her out, try and force her back downstairs to make an appearance amongst the esteemed guests. She rarely had time for anyone but herself these days, so the old man would be damned if she’d make time for some lowly patrons of his new charitable venture. She knew, just as much as Dibs did, that the whole thing was shrouded in corruption - but that’s not why she wasn’t interested. She was just _bored_. 

So when he opened the door and saw her sitting on the large oak desk, staring out of the window that overlooked the gardens that were now bathed in the twilight of evening, he knew she would put up a fight if it meant having to move. 

When he closed the door behind him, she turned to see who it was, a small flash of relief falling across her expression as she noted his appearance. 

She was smoking - a habit she’d recently taken up, much to her father’s searing disapproval. Dibs could only imagine that’s why she insisted on doing it so much, but he couldn’t deny it rather suited her. 

“Here you are,” he says lightly, trying to gage her mood before he approaches. She doesn’t answer so he walks towards her slowly. “Carrigan-?”

“No.” 

She puffs out an air of smoke and finally turns her body to look at him. Her black dress is pulled tight against her thighs with her legs crossed, feet dangling off the floor, swinging playfully. 

“You should at least show your face.” 

She scoffs loudly, bringing the cigarette back up to her lips. 

“Dibs, if you’re just here to do my fathers dirty work, you might as well just leave. I’m not going down, I’m not speaking to those people.” And with that, she waves a hand at him as if signalling that was the end of the conversation and that he was dismissed. 

He almost turns to do so, but instead he moves closer towards her; coming to stand in front of where she sits so they can look at each other, and she gives him a small smirk. He’s tried stern with her before, it always backfired. So he’s resorted to begging, sometimes that backfired too, but on the rare occasion - it seemed to work. Dibs had wondered if over the past couple of years his position as an attorney for the Crittenden family had transformed into the main mediator between Mr Crittenden and his daughter. Even if they were in the same room, Carrigan would talk to her father through Dibs. 

_Dibs, tell Daddy if he doesn’t do this for me I’ll take out another credit card to rinse._

_Dibs tell Daddy to stop speaking to me like I’m eight years old._

And so on and so on... 

Those conversations _never_ ended well. So they took to mediating through Dibs in separate rooms - as they were now. 

But Carrigan doesn’t look ready to talk about anything now as she wraps the end of Dibs’ tie around her hand, tugging him forward. He makes a small sound as the fabric pulls at the back of his neck and he’s dragged towards her. 

He knows that look in her eyes, that flash of excitement at her sudden elevation of power over him. She’d always had power over him of course, but this relatively recent turn of events in their already unusual relationship, was something Dibs knew would probably be the death of him one day. 

She’s twenty-one now, so the guilt doesn’t boil away at him as much as it used to - not the way it left him hot with sickly sweet shame when he brought himself off over thoughts of her spread out underneath him when she’d returned home from boarding school. A girl changed so much between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Fascinating really. 

His hands grip the table either side of her thighs as she looks down at him with her dark eyes. She’s only slightly taller than him where she sits, but it’s enough to make him feel miniscule under her gaze, and his knees tremble, the desire to sink onto them and spread her legs now almost overpowering him. 

Instead he swallows, and tries not to stare at her lips when he speaks. “Carrigan,” he uses the best ‘warning’ voice he can muster. “We shouldn’t...not now-”

She shushes him quickly, fingers coming up to wrap around his chin, squeezing it tightly. 

“You’re starting to develop a really annoying habit of thinking you can tell me what I should and shouldn’t do, Dibs.”

She uncrosses her legs and pulls him forward again so his hips are nestled between her knees. Automatically his hands come off the desk and very gently wrap around her waist, placing both palms at the small of her back. 

“Am I gonna have to start putting you in your place?” 

He swallows again, because he can already feel the blood rushing between his legs and his head is going light from the fuzzy feeling that’s being brought on by her breath against his lips. He longs to lurch forward, capture her mouth in his - taste her tongue that he knows will be soft and delicate and delicious just like the wet pussy between her legs he’s already devoured. Just the memory of it has his eyelids fluttering closed and he shakes his head. 

“Sorry, Carrigan. I’m sorry-” 

She shushes him a second time, finger pressing against his lips before her long manicured nail drags over his bottom lip. He stares at her, mouth hanging open, sweating beneath his collar. 

Carrigan stubs the cigarette out beside them, burning a hole in the wood, a piece of furniture he knows is probably worth more than his years salary. But he focuses on her, his hands running up her back and for one maddening moment he thinks Carrigan is going to let him unzip it, pull it from her body and fuck her naked against the desk - but his fantasy is short lived as she takes his hand and drags it away. 

He thinks it’s all over until she’s guiding it between her legs and without much hesitation presses it firmly against herself, letting out a little sigh against his neck. Her hand leaves his wrist and he doesn’t need anymore guidance - her instructions are clear and Dibs is happy to obey them. 

He presses his hand flush against her panties and... _Christ_...she’s already wet, and he can feel how it’s soaked through the fabric. His other hand comes round to push the dress further up her legs and she actually moves a little, letting it gather at her waist so he can look down between them. 

Dibs bites his lip, and his head comes up to rest against her shoulder, mouth close to her ear. “Let me take them off?” he asks, no, _begs_. 

There’s a slight hesitation, but then with as much interest as ordering a morning coffee, she says, “Fine.” 

His fingers tremble, but only because he’s forcing himself to be gentle because he’s never wanted to tear something off a body so much in all his life. He pulls his head back to watch the red netted fabric being dragged off her body by his own hands and it’s a dizzyingly arousing sight. There’s a little resistance when he tugs them down her thighs, cotton sticking to where her body’s natural reaction has her wet and slippery with anticipation of what she knows is coming. 

When they’re past her knees he slips them past her calves easily and they fall onto the floor below them, along with one of her high heeled shoes that’s hanging off the end of her toes, with a small thud. 

God if anyone walked in now - Dibs didn’t even lock the door.

Her leg wraps around his waist and he doesn’t have much time to worry about anything because the way she’s looking at him tells him all he needs to know. She wants satisfaction, and she wants it now. He leans forward, hand against her again, thumb dipping into that deliciously wet slit, running it over the clit and she shivers, _actually shivers_ , against him. 

He falls forward, letting her bury her head in the crook of his neck. When he pushes a finger inside her, he clasps his eyes shut at the sound of her moaning against him. He has to stop himself from rutting against the desk. His dick grows excruciatingly hard when he feels how tight she is around his finger - how soft, how plush…

“Oh God…” he can’t stop the exclamation leaving his lips as he pushes his head into her hair. It’s easy from where he is, almost as though there’s nowhere else for him to go. He breathes her in, all powder and expensive perfume. 

His finger pushes in a little further, and she opens up for him wonderfully. He starts to notice her hands at his shoulders, squeezing gently as she anchors herself on him. Her other shoe slips off as she brings the leg around him, completely enveloping him against her small frame. 

He retracts his finger, only slightly, before pushing back in all the way, thumb circling her clit when he does it this time, and her body does wonderful things against him as he hits her g-spot. She whines into him, muffled against his shirt collar and he continues to fuck her with his finger, because this is as good as it will ever get. 

His other hand goes against the small of her back again, pulling her towards him. He props her ass against the edge of the table but his arms hold her steady, letting her writhe against him at her own pace as he feels and hears her cunt grow wetter around his fingers. 

When she lets out a little strangled cry, her head comes free from where it's buried in Dibs’ neck, and she leans back. Her whole body shudders, and he feels it from the inside first. He pushes her forward, letting her sit fully on the desk, almost climbing up onto it with her, but when her back goes flat against the wooden surface, her leg rises, knee bent and pressing against his chest painfully, nudging him back so he’s forced to stand above her and finish her off from there. 

He looks down and nearly loses balance at the sight of his finger buried inside her. Her tight pink cunt clasps around his finger as it quivers, practically swallowing his skin. He pushes it in and out, in and out again, all the while thumbing all the way up and down her clitoris, watching it drip wet either side of her soft pale skin. 

His mouth waters just watching it, and he gets some relief at the edge of the table, pressing his erection against it for some friction lest he pass out. He tries to focus, watching Carrigan unravel and orgasm in front of him. Daringly, he gently pulls at the knee against his breastbone, as it weakens and her leg droops to dangle off the table again, thighs spread as he fucks her through it with his hand, working his finger and thumb until she’s coming hard, body convulsing and breaths panting. 

“Jesus Carrigan,” he utters when her hand grabs his, shoving it away from her over-sensitive cunt. He touches himself over his trousers, hand drenched, and lets out a groan as he squeezes the painful arousal between his legs. 

As she props herself up on her elbows, she looks delightfully debauched - cheeks pink and shoulder length blonde hair a little out of place. For someone who revels in always being pristine - Dibs feels like the luckiest man on the planet to see her like this. He leans forward only slightly, lips hovering just above hers. He won’t kiss her and she knows he won’t, but _God_ he wants to. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, as if she’s just caught him pissing into a plant pot. There’s something awfully concerning about the way it makes him feel when she talks to him like that, and it’s got his dick twitching under his trousers. 

“Carrigan, _please_.”

There it is, that begging tone again that he’s starting to become a little accustomed to doing with her. 

She rolls her eyes, and Dibs is almost certain she lets out a little sound a disapproval as she does. She takes out another cigarette and lights it, before shrugging and gesturing for him to continue. 

“Just don’t make a mess,” she says as she takes that first puff, and although her voice says otherwise, she watches with some interest as he unbuttons his trousers and slips his hands inside. The braces under his jacket mean his trousers stay in place and his hand is obscured as he starts to bring himself off. It doesn’t take long, a few quick strokes and he’s coming in his boxers, grunting as his hand holds him up, gripping the edge of the desk next to Carrigan’s thigh. He steals another glance between her legs, still dripping wet and beautifully swollen. 

When their eyes meet she looks away, as though trying to pretend she wasn’t paying any attention at all. Dibs steps back, tucking himself away, painfully aware he’s going to have to wash up before he can go meet any other guests again. 

“So what are you going to tell daddy?” she asks, like they’ve already struck a deal and she’s asking him to repeat their plan. Dibs isn’t entirely sure there was any discussion of a plan at all, but Carrigan, as always; has got her way. 

“I’ll make your excuses,” he says and gives her a small smile and a nod. 

Carrigan hops off the desk and swoops down to collect her shoes. When she stands again, she gives Dibs a lopsided smile that’s more a smirk than anything else, and it reminds him of a look she used to give him when she was being particularly mischievous. 

“There’s a good boy.” 

Before she leaves, she leans up to give him the softest peck on the cheek and he’s struck dumb for a few seconds, not even bothering to turn and watch her leave. 

When he finally comes to his senses, he spots her red lacy panties on the carpet by his feet. Not wanting to raise any suspicion, he collects them into his hand and stuffs them in his pocket. 

Maybe he’ll give them back to her at some point.


End file.
